In This Room
by LSquared80
Summary: After "The Better Half," Peggy's probably not going to be keen on staying in her apartment. I couldn't settle on one scenario. Every other chapter will explore Peggy/Stan or Peggy/Ted. Kind of my own "Choose Your Own Adventure" story.
1. Chapter 1 (Stan)

In This Room  
By Laura

I. _Stan_

The outfit Peggy had reserved for the next day was hanging from a handle on a cabinet drawer. She sat on the sofa and surveyed her desk – her typewriter was covered, there were memos from Phyllis she had yet to read, and the latest Fleischmann's boards from Stan needed to be reviewed before going up the chain of command.

Peggy's intention had been to turn off the lights and go to sleep. It wouldn't be her first overnight at the office since breaking up with Abe, but it was the first night she was starting to feel the difference between a bed and a sofa. Her neck was stiff, her lower back ached. She knew the office was a better alternative to sleeping in an apartment with boarded windows and blood she hadn't been able to get out of the carpet, but she didn't know how many more nights she could manage going back and forth for a shower and clean clothes.

Getting back to work sounded like a better alternative to staring at the work or contemplating an uncomfortable sleep. Peggy knew all she needed to switch gears was a splash of cold water to her face. She stepped over where she'd kicked her shoes off in the middle of the floor and headed into the darkened hallway for the restroom.

She stood at the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet. She leaned down and dipped her face in the water that pooled in her palms. The water sputtered before the force of the spray increased. Peggy yelped and stepped back, turning it off. She looked at herself in the mirror – her pale green blouse was splotched with darker patches.

On the way back to her office Peggy began unbuttoning her blouse. She shrugged the sleeves down her arms and tossed it on the sofa. It took her eyes a moment to register the scene she walked in on, and when she realized her shirt was now rumpled on Stan's lap, she let out an indignant scream. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He grabbed a handful of the garment. "The crowd at Leary's was a drag." Stan stood up. "What I want to know is why do you wait to take your clothes off until after I leave?"

Peggy grabbed the blouse from him, but she took longer than necessary to get it back on. It wasn't the first time she had been in a state of undress in front of Stan, but it felt different, and she was different. The bra she was wearing was slighter than what he'd seen before. It was black with touches of lace. It wasn't the undergarment – built for practical purposes only - she had removed in front of him to prove a point; Peggy was wearing lingerie.

Stan sat back down, watching her clasp the buttons and neglect the top two. His lips twitched. "How long have you been sleeping here?" he asked.

She expected something more lascivious to come out of his mouth. The concern in Stan's voice jolted Peggy. She shrugged and leaned against the edge of her desk. "Did you come here to work? We could take these boards into the conference room," Peggy said, changing the subject as she reached behind her for the artwork.

"Okay, yeah. But let's stay in here."

x

Peggy covered a yawn with a fisted hand. Stan stubbed his cigarette out and sorted the boards into a neat stack on the coffee table. "That's enough for now," he said.

"Let's go back to that, um," Peggy stumbled, flipping the pages in her notebook. "What was that thing you said about-"

"Let's call it a night."

Peggy reclined, letting her arms drop to her sides. She closed her eyes.

"You need to sleep," Stan observed. "Are you here because Abe's in the apartment?"

She shook her head. Without sitting up, she angled her head toward Stan and slowly opened her heavy eyes. "I'm here because I can't sleep in that place. I'm afraid to replace the windows because I don't know if anymore rocks are going to be thrown."

Stan clapped his hands once, loudly, to stir Peggy. "I'll take you home. I'll stay on your couch."

She sat up and eyed him sideways.

"I'm serious." Stan patted his right hand over his heart.

"I believe you," Peggy said unconvincingly, "but I don't want to go there. It's not about whether or not someone is there with me."

Stan stood up. He bent to retrieve Peggy's shoes from the floor and tossed them onto the sofa. He found her small overnight bag nestled between a cabinet and table and picked it up. "Then you can sleep on my couch."

Peggy shook her head. "Thank you, but, no. I'm fine here."

"Where are you going to shower? You stink." Stan plucked the hanger from the handle on the cabinet, holding Peggy's clean dress from one finger.

She looked at him for a long while. There was something about seeing him hold her things – something about her small, pale pink dress hanging at his side. Peggy sighed. "Okay."

x

The hallway was narrow and the temperature boiling. Peggy wiped beads of sweat from her forehead while Stan unlocked the door to his apartment. He didn't seem to be as hot as she was; she wondered if her body was reacting more to the situation, to her nerves and surprising excitement over seeing the place Stan Rizzo called home.

"Ladies first," Stan said, reaching in to flip a switch on the wall and then holding the door open for Peggy to enter.

The surprising thing about seeing his apartment was the knowledge that Stan was neat. The living room was minimal – couch, coffee table, reading lamp, bookshelf. His television set was so small and blended into the wall that she had to search to know that he had one. The framed paintings on the walls had obviously been arranged very specifically; nothing was haphazardly thrown around. Peggy turned toward the small kitchen and stepped toward the circular table. A half-eaten pie was the only thing taking up space on the table and Peggy wondered who the dish it was baked in belonged to.

"You want some?" Stan asked.

Peggy shook her head.

"My Aunt Stella makes the best pie. That one is peach."

"No, thank you," Peggy said. She draped her dress over the back of one of two kitchen chairs.

Stan backed up toward the hallway. "I'll get a pillow."

While he was gone, Peggy studied the front of the refrigerator. He had a picture of himself with his cousin Robbie and she smiled at their goofy grins. There was a piece of paper with an address to somewhere in Jersey and a postcard from Greece signed by someone named Genevieve who wrote in big, loopy letters about how beautiful the beach was. Peggy heard the floorboards squeak and quickly placed the postcard back under its magnet, but when she stepped toward the hallway, Stan wasn't there.

Peggy proceeded down the short space. She glanced in at the bathroom and saw that it too was clean and sparse. She stood in the doorway to Stan's bedroom. It was clearly where he spent most of his time. It was crammed with his bed, dresser, and a table that contained sketchbooks, containers of paint and pencils, and empty beer bottles.

He turned around from the closet. "Sorry. I can't find a blanket," Stan told her. He moved to the bed and tugged on the corner of the cream colored blanket that covered it. "You can use this."

Before he could pull the blanket away, Peggy perched herself on the opposite side of the bed, her leg dangling over the edge. Her shoe slipped from her foot and hit the carpet with a soft thud. "It's pretty hot," she said. "I don't think I'll need a blanket."

Stan nodded. His stare was heavy.

Peggy removed her other shoe and dropped it onto the floor. She scooted back on the mattress until her back was pressed to the headboard. She crossed one ankle over the other. "This is not how I imagined your place would be," she said.

He sat down, facing her. "How often do you imagine what my apartment is like?"

Her lips puckered in a futile attempt to resist smiling. "I thought you would be a slob. Like me," Peggy confided. "You don't really have any clutter."

Stan flipped himself around, bouncing the bed with his ungraceful movements. He settled on his back next to Peggy. He folded his hands behind his head.

She shifted on the bed, stretching out onto her side, facing him. "It's quiet in here."

"My neighbors on the right are an older couple. The left is a guy who only stays here on the weekends," Stan explained.

Peggy looked at Stan's arm, elbow pointed out toward her. Her fingers curled around his wrist and she tugged until he let her pull his hand out from under his head. She touched the mostly healed wound from Ginsburg's knife toss. "It's funny," she mused.

"What? My injury?"

She shook her head. "I thought this was awful. It scared me when it happened. The blood." She drew her hand back and let her head rest on the pillow beside Stan's. "But now… I could have killed Abe."

"But you didn't," Stan said.

Peggy was quiet. She felt a pressure between her eyes and tried to will it away, but then there was the sting of salty tears and one slipped from the corner of her eye. It traveled across her nose and to the opposite cheek, to the corner of her mouth. She looked to where her hand was flat against the bed and inched it toward Stan, settling her palm in the center of his chest. She felt the hammering of his heart. She held her breath when his hand covered hers.

"Goodnight, Peggy," he whispered, closing his eyes.

x

Waking up was usually sudden – jolted awake by a noise. Sometimes sleep was so fitful for Peggy that waking was really only a matter of deciding not to stay in bed any longer.

She opened her eyes halfway. Closed her eyes. Opened them slowly and adjusted to the gray light of a dreary early morning.

Peggy was on her back with one arm curved up around the top of her head. She felt the warm weight of Stan's leg hooked around hers. He had moved down a little lower on the bed and his head was near her shoulder. She lifted up, propping herself on the palms of her hands. Peggy smiled at Stan, rumpled in his sleep. The hem of his shirt had rolled up on one side. His hair was child-like in its messiness and she scooted down to his level, rolled on her side, and brushed her fingers through the short, thick strands.

Stan's eyes twitched open. He yawned. The surprise of seeing her at his side, in his bed, registered on his sleepy face. He moved his leg away and his lips formed the word, "Sorry," but there was no sound.

Peggy sidled up to him, shaping the length of her body against his. She draped her arm across his midsection, where his shirt had lifted – skin to skin. She walked her fingers up to his collar and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"Wha-" Stan cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

She licked her lips. Peggy maneuvered until one half of her body covered his, her knee pressed between his legs. She unhooked the last button and pushed one side of his shirt, stroking her hand along his ribcage, down to the buckle of his belt.

Stan's fingers curled around her wrist.

"Do you want me to stop?" Peggy asked, her eyes locked on his.

He let go of her, moving his hand to the back of her head. Stan pulled her toward him in a slow, languid kiss. Peggy paused and studied the shape of his mouth under his beard before leaning back down. The pressure of her mouth was harder, more urgent.

Stan wrapped his arms around her back. He yanked her shirt out from under her skirt as Peggy maneuvered on top of him and sat up. She was taking forever to unbutton her blouse and he grabbed hold of each side of the fabric and ripped the last few apart. She let the shirt fall from her arms and Stan sat up to kiss her neck, her shoulder. He yanked the strap of her bra down and Peggy threw her head back as he kissed across her chest; she felt the scratch of his beard through the thin silk of her bra.

He stopped abruptly and Peggy lifted to meet his stare. There were questions in his eyes, and she could have told him _I don't have a boyfriend anymore_ or _Forget everything I said_ or _I don't care what I saw_. She circled her arms around his broad shoulders, thrusting closer to him, her legs wrapped around him. "Maybe we're not so different," Peggy whispered before framing his face with her hands and hungrily pressing her mouth to his.


	2. Chapter 2 (Ted)

II. _Ted_

Peggy carried the Fleischmann's file to Ted's office. She stopped at Moira's desk and asked, "Is he available?"

"Let me see," Moira said. Instead of using the intercom, she stood and let herself into Ted's office. A beat later she returned, closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Olson. Mr. Chaough has to make a personal call. He said he'll come by your office later."

Peggy thanked her and turned away. She headed back to her office and tripped on the suitcase she had been trying to conceal between two filing cabinets.

x

The meeting ended with Pete storming off and if pressed, Peggy wouldn't be able to say why. She had kept herself occupied with drinking coffee, chewing on a pastry – anything to keep awake. She didn't sleep well on the couch in her office. She hadn't been doing it every night, but she slept even worse when she did go home.

"What do you think, Peggy? Peggy?"

She heard her name and turned her chair toward Don. "Sounds good to me?" Peggy guessed.

Don pushed his chair back from the table. He dismissed her with a pointed stare and headed for the door.

She stood and when Ted was almost out of the room, she called, "Did you have time to look at the copy for Topaz?"

Ted paused with his back to her, his shoulders tensed. He turned and smiled. "No, I haven't. I'll come by your office later."

"That's what you said yesterday," Peggy muttered to his retreating figure.

x

Ted passed by Peggy's office seven times without knocking on the door. He wasn't even sure if Peggy had arrived yet for the day; it was too early for most. On his eighth trip down the hall he tapped on the door and it squeaked open an inch. "Peggy?" he called, easing it open with his elbow.

She wasn't at her desk, but a nightgown was folded over the back of her chair. A blanket was rumpled at one end of the couch and two of her throw pillows were piled at the other end.

Ted reared back, pulling the door shut.

x

The work was conjuring the smell of motor oil and the sound of engines revving. It gave Peggy a headache. She was beyond tired of evoking images of transportation and the deeper meaning behind vehicles. The intercom buzzed and for a minute it sounded like the bleat of a Chevy's horn.

"Yes, Phyllis?" Peggy responded.

"May I come in for a minute?"

"Of course." Peggy turned her chair around to face the door.

Phyllis let herself in and glanced at the sofa. It was tidy. "You have a room at the Waldorf for three nights, Ms. Olson. Room 629."

Peggy narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?" Her mind reeled back a couple years, to Vicks and stripping out of her clothes and needling Stan.

"Think of it as a gift, I guess."

Peggy could tell by the way Phyllis glanced to the couch and to where her suitcase was poorly hiding under the desk that her makeshift bedroom wasn't that much of a secret. Peggy stood up. "A gift? Who is this from?"

"Room 629," Phyllis repeated. "The reservation is in your name."

"Phyllis. I'm not going to check into a hotel room if I don't know how I even got the reservation."

"It's up to you," she said and made a hasty exit.

x

Room 629 smelled like clean laundry. The temperature was moderately cool. Peggy pressed her fingers into the center of the mattress and decided she wanted to slink under the covers but not go to sleep. The enormous bed was much too comfortable to sleep through; she wanted to enjoy every second of it and luxuriate under the thick, soft blanket.

Her suitcase looked small on top of the long dresser. Everything in the room was oversized and ornate, including a complimentary box of chocolates on the nightstand. Peggy lifted the lid and selected a dark chocolate truffle. She bit into the soft enter and no longer cared who had reserved the room, although she had a hunch it was Joan, charging it as a business expense. Peggy was certain she had given away her living situation after complaining to Joan too many times about a stiff neck and realtors who don't return calls. Or, she suspected, Phyllis had paid Joan a visit on her behalf.

Peggy licked chocolate from her fingers and popped her suitcase open. She changed into her pajamas and took a little work into the bed with her.

The folders were never opened.

x

Peggy finished her first cup of coffee and pushed the mug to the back of her desk; she didn't feel a need to fill it up again. The dull ache in her lower back was gone. She hadn't yawned through the first meeting of the day.

There was a knock on the door and Peggy called, "Come in."

Ted appeared, closing the door behind him. "Phyllis stepped away," he said.

Peggy nodded. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't. She had been trying to secure time with him all week and was ignored and avoided.

"How was your evening?" Ted asked.

"Fine," Peggy answered after a long pause. "I'm sorry but I didn't get any more work done, other than the ten tags I tried to submit the other day. If that's what you're asking."

He held his hand up, dismissing her apology. "I am about to sit down and review that. Maybe you can come by in half an hour?"

She nodded.

"Good." He moved to leave but turned back around. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm… fine."

"You look rested." He smiled and when she didn't carry the conversation further, Ted turned and put his hand on the doorknob.

Peggy stood, her movement so abrupt her chair toppled and almost tipped back. "It was you," she said.

"Excuse me?"

She circled around her desk. "The room at the Waldorf? You had Phyllis reserve that room for me."

Ted shrugged. "I don't know what-"

"Why did you do that?"

He lowered his voice, inched a step closer to her. "You're sleeping in your office, Peggy. I don't need to know why, exactly, but it concerns me."

"Well, it shouldn't. You should have Moira call and cancel the reservation. I'm not going back."

Ted nodded once. "Alright." He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "Half an hour in my office?"

"I have an appointment then," Peggy said sharply.

x

She only went to The Waldorf because she had left her suitcase, but when the clerk told Peggy the reservation had never been cancelled, she decided to stay in the room. For just one more night. And maybe one more after that. It bought her more time to find a place to rent while she put her building on the market.

Peggy changed into her nightgown and stood at the side of the bed. It was nice to come home to a clean, put together bed. She saw the appeal in bed-making when it was time to turn down the covers; the sheets were crisp, it was unexpectedly cool under the blankets.

She heard a knock on the door but thought it was probably coming from across the hall. When it became louder she bit her lip, staring suspiciously at the closed door. Peggy turned the lock but kept the chain intact. She opened the door enough to see a slant of Ted's face.

"You did come back," Ted observed.

Peggy ignored the way he smiled, proud of himself. She didn't move to let him in. "I was about to sleep. Did I leave something at the office?"

"No. May I come in?" Ted asked. Peggy unhooked the chain and opened the door all the way.

He blushed; her nightgown was short, above her knee, and the lace trim around the oval neckline drew his eyes to her chest. He didn't know if he'd ever seen her wear such a bright, feminine pink. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and focused his gaze up and over her shoulder.

Peggy picked up her robe from the edge of the bed and slipped it on, tying it tight across her waist. She went to the dresser and put her hairbrush and cosmetic bag in her suitcase. "I'm not staying," she said.

"Peggy, stop."

She shook her head. "I shouldn't have come back. You shouldn't have done this." She dropped a tube of lipstick and it rolled under the dresser.

Ted took two big strides across the room and bent to retrieve the lipstick. He set it on the dresser and when Peggy moved to drop it in her bag, Ted moved the suitcase out of her reach.

"Why are you here?" she asked, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.

"I'm worried about you."

Peggy laughed.

Ted reached into his pocket and removed a business card. "This is for a realtor I've worked with many times. I don't know if you've been in contact with anyone, but I know Julian will be able to help you quickly."

"I have a realtor."

Ted reached behind him, setting the card on top of her closed suitcase.

"Why are you here?" she repeated. Peggy regretted how wounded her voice was.

"I told you, I-"

"Because I think it's some kind of game for you," she said, generating as much contempt as she could muster. "You ignore me for days. And then you make this grand gesture. You hide behind this."

He looked down at his feet and then sharply back at Peggy. "You're wrong."

"I won't do this, Ted. I won't let you ignore me at work and then hide me away like this. I can put everything behind me. I can pretend like nothing ever happened. I can pretend like you never told me you loved me. I can continue to work with you. I've had to do that before," Peggy said.

His eyes widened.

"But I won't let you be cruel to me."

"I'm not… This wasn't meant to be cruel," Ted told her.

"Well it is. You're dismissive at the office. The way you treat me has changed. And then you put me up here? Like I'm your mistress?"

Ted wiped a hand down his face. He reached out, resting his hands over her shoulders and then pulling back, pressing his palms together. "That was not my intention, Peggy. I swear. I was worried about you. I was trying to be helpful." He looked down, ashamed.

"You haven't been acting very concerned for me."

"How can I, Peggy? I feel like it's written all over my face – how I feel about you. This isn't me. I don't fall in love with women who aren't my wife. I don't put women up in hotel rooms. Isn't it obvious how terrible I would be at sneaking around?"

She smiled despite herself. Peggy felt herself wilting. She drew closer to him without, it seemed, even moving her feet. "I'm going to pay you back for the room," she said.

Ted didn't argue. He sat on the foot of the bed, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. "Can we start over?" he asked.

Peggy stood at his side. "I hope so. I don't want to hate you."

He looked up at that. "I couldn't stand it if you did."

"You have to promise me that you won't ignore me at work," Peggy implored. "You have to make a decision. Either we can move forward and go on like none of this ever happened or… Or I don't think we can work together."

"I don't want the agency to lose you, Peggy." He heaved a sigh. "Tomorrow, at the office, we go back to normal. Deal?" He extended his hand.

Peggy nodded and accepted his handshake, but once his fingers were wrapped firmly around hers, her resolve broke.

Ted absently rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. He tried to stand from his perch on the bed but his knees wouldn't let him. "Peggy," he whispered, his voice a mere rasp of longing.

She let go of his hand but didn't move. She thought about the time he had kissed her, how she'd pressed her hands to his chest. The pressure of her fingers had been a warning to stop, at first. Peggy hadn't been able to stop thinking about what might have happened once she'd recovered from the shock and if Ted hadn't apologized right away, how she would have moved her hands up to his shoulders, winding her arms around his neck.

Peggy lifted a hand to his shoulder. She closed her eyes when she felt Ted's hand at the small of her back. He tugged her forward, between his legs, until she was almost sitting on his lap. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. They both tried to resist the kind of frenzied, passionate kiss they craved. They clung to one another, caught in an embrace that was both consuming and teasing. Peggy lost her footing and sank further against Ted, and it was then he captured her lips in a searing kiss.

She pulled back and realized he'd been clutching the tie around her robe. The strip of fabric loosened and her robe opened across her chest. She held it together.

Ted dug his hands into the bed to hoist himself up onto his shaky legs. "I want you to know," he said, catching his breath, "that was not why I came here."

Peggy nodded. "Tomorrow," she said, reminding him of their agreement. She walked to the door and held it open.

"Yes," Ted agreed. "Tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3 (Stan)

**III. **_**Stan**_

Peggy was late for the meeting. She considered skipping altogether; locking her office door and hiding, or slipping out to the elevators and pretending like she'd never shown up in the first place. She could smell Stan and his soap all over her skin, and Peggy was convinced everyone else would be able to as well.

The memory was so fresh – only a few hours old – that she felt every moment as it replayed over and over in her head. _His beard scratching the inside of her thigh. Fingers digging into her hips. Warm, soapy water sliding down her back. _Peggy touched along the side of her neck, certain she would feel teeth marks.

Phyllis' voice crackled on the intercom. "They're asking for you."

Peggy sucked in a deep breath, holding it until her lungs stretched and burned. She grabbed her files and dashed out into the hall, not letting Phyllis get a very long look at her.

x

The conference room was different since the merger. There were always trays of food on the middle of the table and Stan wasn't even sure where they came from. He'd been offered a sandwich, toasted bread with ham and bright yellow cheese, three times since he sat down. His stomach grumbled but he refused; he could still taste her.

"Sorry, everyone," Peggy said, bursting through the door and then calmly taking an empty seat across the table from Stan.

The meeting was nothing more than din mumbling as far as Stan was concerned. He did his best to appear focused. When someone mentioned an upcoming meeting with Topaz he flashed to Peggy on his bed and how he'd ripped her nylons.

"Stan, can you find time this week for that?" Ted asked.

Stan shifted in his seat. "Yes?" He leaned forward. "Yes. I can." He caught Peggy's eye and how quickly she looked away.

The conversation went on around him. At some point he forgot to be less obvious. Stan stared at Peggy. She tilted her head to the side – stretching, exposing her neck – and he ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. He'd known for a long time what she looked like underneath her clothes, and he'd spent a lot of time in and out of meetings imagining what she felt like. Knowing for sure didn't change anything; he noticed the way the pink cloth of Peggy's dress was tight across her chest whenever she leaned back in her chair. Stan remembered what it was like to press his face between her breasts and he covered a smile with his hand.

x

Peggy had to call for Ginsberg and Stan and she was grateful the two of them came in together. She pitched a few new ideas for Chevy and Ginsberg was able to pinpoint the best and expand. She sent them out with new assignments and an encouraging smile but Stan lingered in the hallway. He ducked back in, closing the door quietly.

"You don't like it?" Peggy asked.

"I think it's great."

Peggy remained seated. She heard the lock on her door click and said, "Stan. Don't."

He walked around her desk. He turned her chair to face him and bent forward, kissing her neck.

Peggy's entire body reacted. She hooked her ankles around the legs of her chair. Her hands gripped Stan's belt buckle. Waves of heat coursed through her body, centered in her belly. Her lips parted to accept his kiss but she grunted and shoved him away.

Stan breathed heavily. He held his hands up.

"You need to leave," she said, rising from her chair and smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. "I have deadlines. And so do you."

x

It was midnight and Stan didn't have the gumption to cook anything. He grabbed a fork and sat at his table. He uncovered what was left of Aunt Stella's pie and started eating around the edge first, crumbs of the flaky crust dusting his shirt. He bit into a large chunk of peach and almost winced at the sweetness. Stan stabbed the center with the fork, leaving it there.

He mind wandered to Peggy – as if it had ever been anywhere else. She was infuriating. He tried to muster up some hatred for her so he could either fall asleep or accomplish something, but all Stan could do was think about the curve his hand made while resting over her hip.

He stood and hiked his shirt up and over his head. Stan headed for the bathroom, dropping the shirt in the hamper on his way. He stopped when he thought he heard a light tapping on his door. Sometimes Mrs. Prather got confused about whether it was morning or night so he hurried to the door.

Stan opened it a bit, peering out into the hall. "Peggy," he sighed.

She smiled. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head. "No."

She waited. When he said nothing, Peggy asked, "Are you busy?"

Stan opened the door all the way, inviting her in. He took note of the way her eyes appraised his bare chest and he crossed his arms. He eyed the suitcase in her hand. "On your way home?" he asked.

Peggy set the suitcase down. She shrugged.

Her dress had a row of small pearl buttons down the front and Stan's fingers itched to pop each one. He moved into the kitchen and heard her follow behind. He busied himself at the counter, opening the cabinet where he kept the liquor. When he turned around Peggy was taking a bite of pie. She smiled – caught – and wiped a smear of peach filling from the corner of her mouth. He leaned against the edge of the counter and Peggy approached him.

"You're being quiet," she said.

Stan nodded his head once. He wanted to ask her something, a lot of things – like why she'd been such a cold fish in her office, and did she show up with her suitcase to see him or just to have a place to sleep and shower? But Peggy flattened her palms to his chest and the delicate pressure of her small hands was enough to stop his breath. In one fluid motion Stan clutched her ass, lifted her, and spun until she was sitting on the counter.

He wanted to ask her so many things but when Peggy's legs latched around his waist he didn't care what her answers were.

x

She woke because Stan rolled onto his stomach and flung his arm across her chest. Peggy eased out from under the weight and tossed the sheet she had been hogging over his naked backside. She searched the floor for her clothes. She only found her bra and remembered everything else was in the kitchen.

Peggy stood at the side of the bed and watched Stan's shoulders rise and fall with every breath. Convinced he was sound asleep, she tiptoed to the other side of the room where his desk was set up. She peered into old coffee cans used to store pencils, paint and brushes. Peggy lifted a sketchbook and recognized early work from Heinz and Jaguar, but it was the pages inside the book that intrigued her the most.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Stan hadn't been roused. She carefully lifted the cover of the topmost book and paged through it, admiring charcoal and pencil drawings that were different than what he created for work. Several pages in a row were of places – maybe an old school building, a row of houses with laundry hanging from a line – drawn in such exquisite detail that Peggy was certain they were the places where Stan had grown-up. She remembered his concern once that he'd never be as good as a photograph and thought _you're wrong_.

Peggy got to a section of portraits when she was distracted by a noise coming from the hallway. She closed the book and quickly put everything back in its place. Stan's shirt was crumpled by her feet and she retrieved it, slipping it over her head as she walked to the front door.

There was clatter, like pots and pans were being dropped. Peggy put her ear toward the door and jolted back when someone knocked on the other side.

Stan appeared behind her, the sheet wrapped around his waist. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, nudging Peggy out of the way. He opened the door.

Peggy craned her neck to see over his shoulder; an older woman stood with a cane in her hand and said, "Stanley. I didn't think you were home."

"I'm home, Mrs. Prather," he said. He made a hasty knot at his waist to hold the sheet in place. "Are you okay?"

"What time is it, Stanley?"

He looked back at Peggy and she made a face; _I have no idea_. "Early," he responded. "It's early in the morning, Mrs. Prather. Do you need some help?"

The woman shook her head. She looked directly at Peggy and said, "No, you're busy." She turned, her cane thumping down the hall to the next door.

Stan closed his door and looked at Peggy. "Sorry if she woke you. She gets confused."

Peggy smiled. "I was already awake."

"Sneaking out?"

Peggy shook her head. "No. But I do need to get going." She started to turn.

"Wait," Stan said.

"What?"

"I need to look at you a little longer," Stan said. His voice was gravelly from sleep.

Heat flared pink in Peggy's cheeks. She crossed one ankle over the other, touching her knees together. His polo shirt hit above her knee and rested lopsided on her shoulders; one side exposed her collarbone and the slope of her breast.

"Is that long enough?" Peggy asked.

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"I need to get ready for work."

"There's time," Stan said. He tugged on the loose knot at his hip and the sheet dropped, pooling around his feet.

The protest on Peggy's tongue was swallowed up by the pressure of Stan's mouth on hers. He backed her up against the nearest wall and reached under the shirt to grip her hips, lifting the garment as his hands traveled the curves of her body.

x

Stan left Cosgrove's office and headed for the stairs. It was about the time he usually retreated to his office to light up, but he wanted to see if he could convince Peggy to leave the office for a long lunch. He stopped halfway down the stairs when he saw the door to Chaough's office open.

The two of them were exchanging files before Peggy walked out. There was something about the way Chaough lingered and watched her go that put a sharp ache in Stan's chest. He bounded down the stairs and then took his time following Peggy to her office, resisting the urge to pounce.

"Hey," he said, sticking his head in her half-open door. "Lunch plans?"

Peggy held up a manila folder. "My lunch plans are in here," she said.

Stan nodded and backed out into the hall. He plodded to his office and went for the bottom desk drawer.

Ginsberg recognized the sound and turned from his spot at the window. "You have to do that now?" he barked.

Ignoring him, Stan found his lighter. He sat down and remembered his phone calls with Peggy and the few times Chaough had walked into the room. _He likes you_ had been his under-the-influence, half-serious observation one time. It was something Stan had forgotten until the merger, until a look here and there had rekindled his memory and made him think he had been onto something.


	4. Chapter 4 (Ted)

**IV. **_**Ted**_

The day Ted and Peggy had promised would be a clean slate – _tomorrow_ – came and went without fanfare. Their paths crossed very little and Ted was taken out of the office most of the day by executive meetings. That _tomorrow_ become the next day and the day after that, and when Peggy found herself alone in a room with Ted for the first time since their post-kiss truce, she overdid neutrality.

"Good morning, Ted," she said, entering the kitchen, skidding to a stop on the slick floor when she saw him. "How are you today?"

He eyed her curiously over the top of his coffee mug. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Just great," Peggy told him. She cleared her throat, reigning in her cheerfulness.

Ted topped off his coffee as Peggy unscrewed the cap from her thermos. Without being prompted he poured the piping hot liquid into the thermos for her.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

The two of them stood with a respectable space between them, exchanging jaunty smiles, until Peggy said, "Have a good day, Ted." She turned and walked away, the smile collapsing the moment she was in the hallway. She stopped short when Ted called after her.

"Peggy, I forgot to mention something," he said, coming near her, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Ken and I have a meeting with Chevy tonight. A couple of the guys are in town. They're staying at The Waldorf. They don't have much time and they asked us to meet them there for dinner." He paused, waiting. She said nothing and Ted added, "I thought you should know we would be there. I didn't plan… I thought you should know."

She nodded. "Okay, that's fine. They have excellent food! Enjoy yourself."

x

There were times Peggy couldn't read Ted at all, and his mention of the Chevy dinner was no exception. She couldn't talk to Joan or Phyllis or Stan about her confusion. Instead, she batted questions around her head and couldn't answer back with any certainty. _Does he want me to stop by the meeting? Does he think I might be in the restaurant at the same time and he really just didn't want me to get the wrong idea? _

Exhausted, Peggy decided to stay in the office until long after the dinner should have ended. Ted said so himself – the men were on a tight schedule, and from what she'd heard so far, these weren't the guys that tortured Ken. They really were in town for business.

x

She headed for the elevator. She told the bellhop to take her to the sixth floor. But Peggy let her curiosity get the better of her and said, "Sorry, never mind," before taking off in the direction of the restaurant.

Peggy saw him right away. He was at a table by himself – a table that was cleared except for a small plate and a half empty glass. The other three chairs were pushed close to the table, abandoned. Ted's suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He'd loosened his tie. He looked defeated and Peggy wondered if something bad had happened with Chevy.

She bit her lip and decided to sneak back out. As she turned, she collided with a waiter carrying a tray of someone's dinner. The contents crashed to the floor. A pile of spaghetti was dangerously close to her shoes. Peggy yelped and covered her mouth with her hands, both a gesture of apology and an attempt to quiet herself. She apologized softly and heard her name called out behind her. She turned to see Ted standing in front of his chair. He waved her over.

"Hello," she said.

"Are you okay?" Ted asked.

Peggy knew right away by the red tinge in his cheeks that he'd been drinking steadily, that he probably started while he waited for everyone else, drank during the salad course and doubled up during the steak. She was proved right when a waiter appeared and sets a glass in front of Ted. "Anything for you?" the young waiter asked.

"No, I'm not staying," Peggy responded.

"Bring her a rye rocks, please," Ted told him.

Peggy pursed her lips. Ted walked around to the other side of the table and pulled a chair out. He sat back down and said, "You might as well join me for a drink. Let me tell you about the meeting."

"How was it?" she asked, settling into her chair.

"Better than I expected. They're still not ready to dive into a campaign but I think Ken was happy to shift the conversation toward the creative side."

The waiter arrived with Peggy's drink and after she took the first sip Ted changed the subject. "Any luck selling your place?"

"No. It's getting to the point where I'm going to have to rent the first floor and move somewhere else. Or find a way to make it work."

Ted asked where she could stay in an emergency, if she wasn't interested in The Waldorf long-term, and Peggy relayed her strong desire not to end up at her mother's. The two of them exchanged stories about well-meaning but overbearing parents. She laughed at the image of a teenaged Ted trying to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and feeling so guilty that he instead woke his parents to apologize for the attempted misdeed.

Peggy leaned back in her chair. The whiskey burned her stomach and pulsed heat through her body. She unbuttoned her jacket and removed it, draping it over an empty seat. She caught the path Ted's eyes made – from her face to her exposed shoulders and arms.

"I guess," he said clearing his throat, "disappointing my parents was far worse than defying them."

Peggy knew how to forget things and how to move forward. She was able to wear a persona around Ted that she could forget their intimate encounter, their admittance of something more than a platonic, working relationship. But seated across the table from him, engaged in a conversation about their childhoods and families was not something Peggy thought she'd ever be able to forget.

The waiter's shadow darkened their table. He asked if they both wanted another drink.

Peggy knew she was on the verge of too much alcohol – she was a little sweaty, her skin was burning, the lights were hazy. "No, thank you," she answered for both of them.

Ted paid the check and the two of them gathered their things. When they stood up, it was obvious to Peggy that Ted had surpassed his limit long before she'd even arrived at the restaurant. She put her hand on his back and asked, "You don't have a car here, do you?"

"I do," he told her, jiggling his suit jacket, the keys in the pocket.

She took a deep breath. "Come upstairs. I'll order you a coffee and you can splash some water on your face."

x

Her room smelled clean, like freshly vacuumed carpet and lemon disinfectant. Ted emerged from the bathroom, drops of water darkening the pale yellow of his shirt. Underneath the chemical scent Peggy caught a trace of his cologne – notes of sandalwood and something that reminded her of walking outside after a hard rain on a crisp, fall day.

"There's a coffee on the desk," she told him.

Ted picked up the mug, holding it in both hands. The cup seared the palms of his hands. He let the steam heat his face for a long while before he took the first bitter sip. He watched Peggy fidget around the room. He noticed the closet was open and one of Peggy's suits was the only thing hanging there. It looked so small and so feminine and something about it alone in the large, dark space sparked an odd mixture of sadness and affection in him. He thought about his trip home earlier that day, how Nan had been reading in the bedroom and eyed him hopefully. "I'm only here to change my suit," he had told her, and she'd gone back to her book without comment.

He had told his wife there was a meeting, and that it would probably go late. He knew the opposite to be true and the lie was a weight that strangled his breath. He'd amended his words, telling Nan there was a reason he spent so much time at work, and it was partly because he felt they'd grown apart and partly because he'd grown closer to the job and to the people there.

"Anyone in particular?" Nan had asked.

"Yes," was the strangled response Ted had provided. He'd apologized to her and spouted another lie, that nothing had happened.

_But you want something to happen_, was the statement she didn't say verbally, but the sentiment was left hanging heavy in the air between them.

Ted reached behind him to set the mug down, some of the coffee spilling over the sides. "Thank you, Peggy, but I better be on my way."

She followed him toward the door. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should leave your car and get a cab?"

"That's a good idea," Ted told her. He said goodnight and walked a few feet down the hall, stopping and leaning against the wall. He could leave the car and get a cab, but to where? He didn't want to go home.

x

Peggy unraveled the towel from her head and hung it from a hook in the bathroom. She ran a comb through her wet hair. She slipped her arms into a thin cotton robe, tying the belt loosely around her waist. Peggy leaned against the doorway, looking out into her room.

She considered turning on the television or reading. She wasn't tired. The shower she took had reversed the effects of the whiskey. Peggy crossed the room and stopped when she heard knocking on the door. She thought it might be across the hall but then the sound was louder and closer.

Peggy opened the door without removing the chain. "Ted," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She closed the door to remove the chain and it opened it again, letting him in. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry. I've been standing out there all this time like some kind of lunatic. I should have gone to the lobby. I should have gotten my own room. I can't go home drunk." He paused, releasing a tired breath through his teeth. "I can't go home."

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Peggy asked.

Ted went to the desk. He saw that Peggy had drunk the coffee. He shifted to the bar cart and unscrewed the cap on a bottle without even looking to see if it was scotch or whiskey or gin. "I can't go home," he repeated. It was then Ted noticed that her slip was draped over the back of the desk chair and her black, lacy bra had been tossed onto the seat. As he backed up, his hand brushed the silk and he shuddered. He turned to her but closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I don't know…"

Peggy softened. "Stop apologizing," she said. She scuttled behind him, grabbing up her undergarments and tossing them on the floor of the closet before shutting the doors. "Why don't you sit down?"

Ted turned the desk chair around to face the bed. He sat, propping the bottle between his legs.

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. Her gesture was an answer to a question he hadn't asked. _Yes, I'll listen. _

Ted said he couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started to prefer spending time at work to spending time at home, but that was the truth. "I could apologize for being a terrible husband and father but what good does that do?"

"You're not-"

He interrupted her, holding a hand up, but he didn't say anything. Ted lost his train of thought when he allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of Peggy in a robe sitting on a bed. Her pale legs were mostly bared to him. He stared at the gap between the two sides of the white cotton that revealed her thigh. He raked his fingers through his hair. Ted reached behind him for the empty coffee mug and began to pour the liquor.

"Don't do that," Peggy said, standing up. She grabbed the bottle.

"Why not?" Ted asked. "Isn't this what people do when their life is in turmoil? Dull it all with drink?"

"Yes," Peggy said, "it's what some people do. But I've yet to meet anyone who could tell me that it was working well for them."

Ted set the mug back on the desk. He stood and was unsteady on his feet and Peggy's hand on his arm guided him to the bed. He scooted his back against the headboard, needing the support.

She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with a glass of water. "Drink this," she instructed.

Ted obliged and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," she said again.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll leave." He leaned forward and then collapsed back.

"Take your time."

"Frank would have a field day with this," Ted said. He released a short, self-deprecating laugh.

Peggy sat near his feet. "Why is that?"

Ted leaned his head against the wall. "He always warned me I was going to snap one day. He said he wouldn't always be around to level me out."

"And this is you snapping?" Peggy asked.

Every drink he had swallowed that night buzzed in his brain, made his vision foggy. His restlessness gave way to exhaustion. Ted's eyes drooped. "I don't get drunk because I'm having problems in my marriage," he told her, his words labored, his voice low. "It's not because Frank died. It's not about Draper." Ted lifted his arm, stretching his fingers out toward Peggy, but the effort was too much and his arm dropped to his side.

Peggy cupped her hand over his outstretched leg. She resigned herself to not knowing what he was going to say next. She made a move to get up but stopped when Ted continued on drowsily.

"It allows me to feel whatever I want," he told her. He murmured something indecipherable.

Peggy waited a beat, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders. When she knew he was asleep she got up slowly.

Her feet hurt and she wanted nothing more than to recline, but she was still wide awake. Peggy picked up her copy of _Wide Sargasso Sea _and situated herself on the opposite side of the mattress from Ted. The bed creaked when he slid down, getting comfortable with his head against the pillow. She opened the book and mostly stared at the words, mostly listened to Ted breathing and wondered what all of the things were the alcohol allowed him to feel.

x

He woke on his stomach, his face toward the window. The room was dim, but not dark, and Ted wagered it was early enough to get a couple more hours of sleep. His groggy ruminations on the time of day and his mental to-do list become irrelevant the more he stirred, the more he became aware of the other body sharing the bed.

Ted didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to disturb Peggy's sleep and he thought it would be far too intimate – far too damaging – to see her sleeping. Ted dug his fist into the mattress, hoisting himself up. He eased off the bed and spotted only one of his shoes, wondering when he'd kicked them off.

He stared at the curtains covering the window. He pictured himself squeezing his eyes shut and feeling his way toward the door to avoid feasting his eyes on Peggy, leaving one shoe behind. He knelt down and lifted the bed ruffle, reached under, patting the carpet. When he stood he neglected to close his eyes and there she was, on her back, lost in sleep.

The sight was just as destructive as he'd predicted. One of Peggy's arms was curled up above her head. Her book was at her side, her thumb still between the pages, marking the spot she'd been reading before falling asleep. The sash around her waist was no longer knotted and barely tied at all. The robe was loose around her chest, revealing the curve of her left breast. He closed his eyes before he allowed himself to focus on the way her left leg was bent at the knee and no part of the robe concealed her cotton underwear. Ted was so intent on not searing the image into his memory, of getting himself out of the room, that he didn't hear the rustling on the bed.

"Ted?"

He opened his eyes. Peggy was sitting up. He couldn't find his voice when she asked, "Are you… leaving?"

He dropped the only shoe he'd been able to find and moved toward the bed, lifting one knee onto the mattress. Ted maneuvered closer to her and clasped his hands around Peggy's head, sliding his fingers through her disheveled hair. Their mouths met in a heated kiss, their arms tangling, not able to get close enough.

Peggy latched her arm around Ted and pulled him down as she leaned back against the bed. The robe loosened completely and he longed to feel her skin against his. He kissed his way down her neck, to her chest. She arched her back, lifting closer to his mouth when he brushed his lips across her bare breasts.

She grabbed the open collar of his shirt and tugged until Ted's mouth covered hers. When her legs locked around his hips and he couldn't get any closer to her, he buried his face in the crook of Peggy's neck. He stilled his body, holding her.

Peggy felt the heated pulse of his breath against her neck. She closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him. She hadn't meant to fall asleep the night before. She was going to read a while, let Ted sober up before waking him to go home. Now that it had happened, that they'd slept side by side and found themselves locked in an intimate embrace, she didn't want to let him go. But she knew what was going to happen – could feel the way he prolonged their hold and yet retreated.

Ted kissed her shoulder and slowly peeled away from her. As he rolled to stretch alongside her on the bed, he pulled Peggy's robe together, briefly holding the soft fabric between his fingers at the center of her chest.

"I'm not sorry for that," Ted said, harkening back to his profuse apologies the night before.

Peggy smiled.

"But we can't. I can't. Not… not yet, Peggy."

"I understand," she told him. She sat up, tying her robe.

Ted got up and found his other shoe in the process. He retrieved it from the foot of the bed and sat with his back to her to put them on. They were both quiet while he ducked into the bathroom to swish mouthwash and splash water on his face.

He emerged from the bathroom and Peggy was still seated on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Ted dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands gripped her hips, kneading through the soft cotton. "You have to know how badly I want to stay in this room with you," Ted whispered.

Peggy nodded. She reached between them, fastening the top few buttons on his shirt. She straightened the collar and said, "I know."

"I promise, what we said the other night? I won't start treating you differently at work. I won't push you away. I just have to… I have to be upfront with Nan."

She nodded again. "I understand, Ted. I don't want to do anything that makes you feel guilty. It's just…" Peggy pressed her fingers to his chest and then pulled away. "It's not easy."

He stood up and kissed her forehead. "We're on the same page there." He backed up toward the door. "You'll be alright?"

"Yes."

"I'll see you at the office?"

She nodded. "Goodbye, Ted."

Ted opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He turned to her and their eyes locked. Peggy smiled and after a brief pause he turned and closed the door, both of them knowing it wasn't going to have to be a very long goodbye.


End file.
